


I Warned You: Do Not Make an Enemy of Me

by DesdemonaKaylose



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ben is the diva of the resistance, Ben never became Kylo, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, M/M, now with podfic, the beginning of a beautiful hateship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assume that Leia managed to prevent Snoke from ever affecting Ben as a kid--at what point do Hux and Kylo encounter each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Warned You: Do Not Make an Enemy of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [why_didnt_i_get_any_soup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/why_didnt_i_get_any_soup/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Предупреждал я дурака: не делай из меня врага](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600162) by [fandom_Kylux_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Kylux_2016/pseuds/fandom_Kylux_2016), [ns17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ns17/pseuds/ns17)



> Inspired by [this comic](http://sauntervaguelydown.tumblr.com/post/139435103967/robespierrre-au-where-everything-is-kinda-the) . Title lifted from the [Los Campesinos song](http://sauntervaguelydown.tumblr.com/post/81518090504/gig-bites-i-warned-you-do-not-make-an-enemy-of).

Hux meets him ( _Him_ , he will spend the rest of his foreseeable life hissing, in the exact same tones) for the first time at a formal function.

Lieutenant General Hux has been sent as a representative of the First Order to attend some frivolous celebration that he knows that the Republic knows that he knows is only a paper thin excuse to court a continued cease fire. If appeasement wasn’t exactly what the Order wanted from them, it would be laughable. Come to think of it, maybe it still is.

Hux sees him lurking at the edges of the room in a dress robe that looks Nabooish in origin and about sixty years out of fashion. Hux snorts into his drink and returns his attention to the conversation, and in another universe probably nothing else would have come of it, except that here in this one some pissant little diplomat follows his gaze and says, “Oh, Organa?”

And Hux has to look again, this time scanning the area for any signs of the resistance matriarch. “Is the princess here?”

This man absolutely cannot be a diplomat. He turns and looks dead on at the dramatically dressed stranger, and he says, “Oh, no. That’s her son.”

Hux knows that Organa has a son. It’s part of the dossier he received on his first day of command— _apprehend if at all feasible_ , the dossier had said. _Make contact at all costs_. Hux is still trying to formulate the smoothest way to reach out to the Organa boy without making his interest transparent, when the bastard walks right up to him and says, “Couldn’t help but notice you staring.”

Hux smiles his most charming smile. Staring? What a self-centered, cocky brat. It's really quite amazing how royalty dissolves under the pressure of just a few generations. There can hardly be much of an age difference between the two of them and look what a wash the prince has managed to make of himself. Clearly, resources do not make the man.

“I apologize,” Hux says. “There’s so much to look at.”

“I could say the same for you,” Organa says, in the smuggest voice a human being has ever produced. Hux’s skin practically crawls at the indignity of it.

“Would you like to step outside,” Hux says, gesturing at the balcony. It’s empty, and the view is lovely, and if he’s going to try to establish an intel link with the prince then he would rather do it away from prying ears. That's all it takes, apparently. Organa saunters away, trailing silk and bells like the galaxy’s most compressed cirque. It’s mesmerizing, in a terrible sort of way.

Under the double moonlight, far above the canals of the planet, Hux attempts to open a dialogue.

“You must attend an awful lot of these dull parties,” he says. He’s already shifted gears into patronizing several sentences ago.

“I like to be out and about,” Organa replies. “What about you? Aren’t you a little too highly ranked to spare on little adventures like these?”

Lieutenant General Hux thinks about his coming promotion, looks over the dissolute mess that is Ben Organa, and manages to discover within himself enough well-meaning pity to summon up an actual smile. Ben probably can't tell the difference between the fake and the sincere, but that's alright.

“Oh, I’m not that highly ranked yet,” Hux says, “not like I will be soon. They can still spare me. But you, you’re a prince. You can’t possibly have time for all these events.”

“Maybe I only come when I hear there’s going to be someone interesting,” Organa says. He leans closer, with more grace than you would expect given the outfit. He really is… quite tall. And an incredibly easy mark. “Is there someone interesting here, tonight?”

“Oh,” Hux says, running a gloved hand up the prince’s arm, “I could name one or two.”

The prince presses in closer still, his hands coming up to lay against Hux’s shirt, and Hux thinks, _my god he’s dim, but at least he’s pretty._

It is at that moment that someone knocks over what appears to be a crystal bowl inside the building, causing such a screech of commotion that Hux has to break character and crane his neck to peer past the glass doors. Good lord, who is running this operation? Who is in charge of the staff?

“I had better go,” Organa says, abruptly drawing Hux back to this moment. Unfortunately Hux hasn’t managed to get anything useful from the guy, but at least he can establish a line of communication. Something productive might yet come of this evening.

“Here,” he says, producing a disc from his pocket, “my private line. There’s no reason for politics to disrupt a promising relationship.”

“Oh,” Organa says, winking, “I couldn’t agree more.”

It is not until the next day that Hux realizes he is missing more than the card disc from the pockets of his dress uniform. The Supreme Leader’s last communiqué is missing as well. There's no other explanation: the bastard must have slipped it out during the commotion inside.  Hux stands in front of his mirror, staring at the empty pocket for a solid minute, rigidly silent, and resists the urge to let out an unprofessional howl of _rage_.

 

 

 

On their second meeting, Hux considers himself somewhat better prepared, although the sight of Prince “just call me Ben” Organa still manages to light him up with an unpurged fury.

“So,” General Hux says, “the Republic hopes to make a fool of us by parading resistance trash through our border negotiations?”

“Resistance?” Ben Organa says, smoothing the high collar of his eveningwear, “What resistance? I’m just a prince who likes to know what’s going on.”

Hux looks him up and down lips pursed. “And I’m supposed to believe that General Organa’s son just happens to be here tonight, because he was passing through?”

“You’ve believed it before,” Ben says, peering up through his lashes.

“That was when I thought you were just an overdressed primadonna riding his mother’s coattails,” Hux replies. “Now I _know_ you’re an overdressed primadonna riding his mother’s coattails.”

“If we want to talk about who’s riding who’s coattails and to what ends,” Ben says, leaving the rest infuriatingly unspoken.

Hux smiles at him. “Is that your grandmother’s dress?”

Ben smiles back. “Is that your daddy’s medal, or did they make you a copy?”

“Thanks to you I nearly _lost_ it,” Hux snaps, realizing even as he says it that this qualifies as a breach of Order information. “Actually, I’d like tothank you properly for that.”

“I’m really not dressed to brawl,” Ben says, levelly. “You’ll have to take it up with my secretary.”

“I’m not going to _fight_ you,” Hux practically spits. “What kind of barbaric grunt do you think I am?”

Ben looks interested, now, despite himself. “Well then what kind of threat is this?”

“The kind that isn’t a threat,” Hux says. He produces a data tab from his coat and offers it to Ben like you might a stick of gum. “There’s nothing on it you wouldn’t already have access to,” he explains, “except the orders.”

Ben’s expression goes flat and dangerous, and he snatches the data from Hux’s fingers with all the delicacy of an enraged shark. He looks like he knows even before he opens it up. His fingers are clenching and unclenching into fists as he scans it. The Order has located one of the resistance’s outposts in a quadrant not far from here. Hux has ordered it blown to dark matter and whatever comes after, effective as of about ten minutes ago.

Ben has him by the throat before Hux can even see him move. Hux’s eyes widen—he tries to take a steadying breath, to stay cool under pressure, but Ben’s grip is more unforgiving than it appears. Than it feels. He didn’t account for this. They’re in public for god’s sake, and he’s a respected member of a non-hostile military force present here for _negotiations_. This should be—this shouldn’t—masters, why can’t he _breathe?_

“General Hux,” Ben says in a low, dangerous tone, “I don’t think you want to be my enemy.”

Hux, unable to return fire on the battle field at which he is most adept, settles for kicking Ben Organa Solo in the shins like a child with a tantrum. It does kind of make him feel better, except that he still can’t breathe. Ben flinches, squeezes mercilessly until it feels like veins are going to pop, and then drops him entirely. Hux stumbles back, clutching at his throat.

“Listen to me,” Ben growls. “I’ll warn you one time. Do _not_ make an enemy of me.”

“With all due respect for your… _station_ ,” Hux wheezes, “it appears I already have, so kindly fuck _off_.”

Ben gives him a look of pure, unadulterated murder, and then storms off in a flare of sweeping robes. After a moment of standing alone, avoiding nervous glances from other guests as they pass (and trying to catch his breath) Hux believes he hears the sound of glass breaking in another room. It sounds distinctly expensive.

He grins. Ben _fucking_ Organa, he knows. He’d bet his stripes on it.

 

 

 

Hux is on the bridge of a ship traveling to a neighboring quadrant, on his way to the Order’s auxiliary bacta facility. He’s overlooking some forms that need to be delivered by the end of the shift, when his assistant taps him on the shoulder.

“Sir,” they say, “you have a call through your private line. Would you like me to take a message?”

Hux waves them off. It’s not as if he gets up to anything risqué in his hours off, or has any great career altering secrets to hide. “There’s a console right there, I’ll take it now.”

When Hux turns, he’s expecting to see his mother, or perhaps an associate from base who is making a casual inquiry. He is not expecting to see Ben Organa’s strange, pretty face smiling at him with lipstick the color of a supernova. He nearly drops his data pad. It’s a close thing.

“You,” he snarls.

“Me,” Ben agrees. The glitter of his lips reminds Hux of the fact that they had nearly kissed, that first time. He finds that he’d still like to smear those elegant lines now, and viciously. It’s deeply unfortunate, and incredibly distracting.

“And just _what_ do you think you’re doing on First Order communication?”

“You gave me your line,” Ben reminds him. He looks so coolly amused that you would never know he took out an entire wall of mirrors in the embassy powder room a month ago. “Remember?”

“I did,” Hux says, eyes narrowing. “And to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

“Just thought it would be polite to give you my condolences,” Ben says, “about the whole… bacta facility thing.”

Hux puts two and two together in the space of a moment. “That was you,” he says.

“It must be quite a loss,” Ben goes on, “losing that many tanks in one go. I can’t imagine what you thought you would need them all for, though, since we all know how your Order is devoted to maintaining peace in our time.”

“If you want peace,” Hux says, eyes narrowing, “prepare for war.”

“I agree,” Ben replies, leaning in close to the video feed. His hair is perfectly, painstakingly tossed back. “I absolutely agree.”

“I’m going to make you regret this,” Hux informs him.

“I look forward to seeing you try.”

Hux stands at attention, expression hard. “You won’t be saying that when I’m done with you.”

Ben gets this malicious look on his face, all of a sudden, and blows the camera feed a kiss. His fingers come away red and orange. Hux, quite calmly and deliberately, punches a button to end the call.

“Lady friend?” his assistant asks, peering over the other side of the console.

“No,” Hux says. “Certainly not.”

He makes a note to himself to get a new assistant as soon as at all possible.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I Warned You: Do Not Make an Enemy of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402087) by [why_didnt_i_get_any_soup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/why_didnt_i_get_any_soup/pseuds/why_didnt_i_get_any_soup)




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